The Nightingale
by Alice Kenna
Summary: Clara O.xEleven. Inspired by the 2012 Christmas Speical, The Snowmen. Set in WW2 era England, Clara is a war nurse with a liking for adventure, and the Doctor does have a knack for landing in the right place at the right time. "The screams and explosions and whirring of planes muted as she pressed her hand against the opened door."
1. Chapter 1

"Have you gone mad, Clara?" Maggie looked perfectly shocked.

"You really don't get out much, do you Maggie." Clara gave a sidelong glance to her friend. The two were clad in their standard white dresses with the red cross stitched over their hearts, both stained with the blood of the men they had been tending to day and night for the last eleven months. A thick fog settled in the cool night air, as shots rang out in the distance. These days, the streets were always tinted crimson. Clara took another step into the darkness.

"Well, are you coming or not?" Clara prodded, turning her head from left to right to check the area around her. What could have made that horrible crashing noise? Someone must be hurt, someone must need her help. Maggie stood in the doorway at the back end of the medical shelter, too nervous to leave her post. Clara breathed in the smoke-stained fog and swallowed down her rising fear. She had to do this, it was her duty. She was a healer- a saver of lives. Men were in danger and she wasn't going to be stopped by the threat of being cut from her job because she abandoned her post. She threw off her matching hat, yellowed from the hours of work in the makeshift hospital, her tight bun falling out into loose curls that gathered at her shoulders. Her medical kit in hand, she flicked on her flashlight, and stepped farther out into the blanket of night. She heard the sound of a shrapnel exploding and glass shattering. She tried to block out the screams. She turned her head to give a reassuring look to Maggie, but was faced with a closed door.

The night seemed to enclose everything in its wake, it was suffocating and a most peculiar mix of horror and comfort. Clara made her way towards the noise, the light of her flashlight shaking with the nervous tremor of her hand. Her footsteps were light but her appetite for adventure and her yearn to help those in need pushed her faster into the night. She wound herself through the dilapidated streets of Coventry, holding her breath at the sound of German voices behind walls and around corners. She made her way quietly but was stopped when her right foot absentmindedly hit something on the ground. She looked down to find a soldier, a British soldier. Her eyes glassed over at the sight of his young, peaceful face. His features were hardened from the plague of war, his hair blackened from dust, and dirt, and the blood of his brothers and friends. She put a hand on his cold cheek, her other hand on the gold cross around her neck. _The poor boy, it broke her heart. If only_-

A shot rang out behind her. Clara ducked, instinctively she covered her head. German shouts filled the air, angry and forceful. She looked desperately around her; she had no way to protect herself. _Unless_- she turned to the boy. She hurriedly searched his uniform, and found a small handgun. She slipped it into her pocket for safe keeping, although she did not know how well her amateur hand would be against a group of trained mercenaries. She straightened, stiff against the brick wall, until the voices had passed. She let her eye's fall once more to the boy's body, and slipped away into the nearest alley.

She continued running towards her destination- the noise. She couldn't have saved the boy, but she had a chance now, perhaps she could save a life tonight. She sped through the darkness fueled by a mix of adrenaline and her need to help those in danger. Suddenly, she found herself at a block in the alleyway. She looked up- she was face to face with an odd, blue, wooden wall. The sensation was almost trance-like. Clara ran her delicate hand over the material, in a kind of dream state. Her mind was flooded with memories all at once, of times she had seen only while asleep, of death and adventure, of a universe unknown to any philosopher to walk the earth- of ice and snow and machines and stars, of a blue box and an extremely mad, beautiful man. She moved her hand across the blue wood, coming to the corner and continuing her way around the outside of the box. As her hand reached the front, she saw a small, dusty beam of light emanating from the slightly opened door. The screams and explosions and whirring of planes muted as she pressed her hand against the opened door. Her flashlight clattered into the puddled streets as she stepped inside of the box.

"Oh Miss Oswin, how I've missed you." A soft voice filled her ears. Clara lost her footing. As her sight went dark, she found herself cradled in the man's arms.


	2. Chapter 2

Something bright blurred her vision as Clara tried to open her eyes. She lifted herself up on her elbows but layed back down immediately due to her lightheadedness. She rubbed her temples and blinked a few times. Her vision encompassed what lay above her- it looked like a strangely futuristic hospital ceiling. _How odd_, thought Clara. She moved her hands around, trying her best to discover her whereabouts without any more flashing lights and painful headaches. She felt that she was in some sort of bed, but this bed was far too comfortable to be her bed in the war hospital. Was she is heaven? She closed her eyes again and it hit her- the strange dream like incident in the night. She just happened to stumble upon a man. _And, not just any man_, Clara let her thoughts lazily wander, _no, he was quite handsome actually and-_

Something warm touched her hand. Her eyelids gently flitted open. Beside her sat the man from her many dreams, the man she had seen the night in the alley. He was a strange kind of beautiful, with light brown hair you just can't resist running your fingers through, laughing eyes that look as if they hold more wisdom than it seems, a thoughtful smile that is both childish and weathered, and a chin that was ever so particularly fascinating. The man sat by her side, one hand in hers, grasping it tightly yet with care, the other hand on her cheek, his thumb tenderly grazing her forehead. He seemed to be watching her, as if she were about to break at any given moment.

"Are- are you my doctor?" Clara stuttered quietly. Something about this man seemed different, totally unlike any man she had ever cared for or seen near the frontlines. But, there was something so familiar about him, too.

"Doctor? Doctor- yes. I am the Doctor." He replied with an increasing tone of certainty in his voice. He had a whimsical way of speaking, Clara thought, it was a bit mesmerizing.

"Doctor who?" Who was she kidding, it was completely mesmerizing. And goodness, he really was handsome. And sweet too.

"Doctor." He said it matter-of-factly, his face almost lighting up at the sound of it.

Clara suddenly got a surge of courage and raised herself up to sitting. She glanced down; the man, er The Doctor was still holding her hand. She looked back at him. She liked it. She liked him. And she would like to-

He quickly pulled his hand back, realizing what he had done. A girl? He felt foolish. But it had been out of caring, and she had looked so lovely but frail laying there it was the least he could do to show her some amount of tenderness. He was shocked, just a bit, when Clara put her warm palm on his cheek.

"I'm Clara, I'm from London, but I've been stationed as a nurse in Caventry." He was also shocked, and more than a bit this time, when he covered her hand with his own.

"Clara, Clara I do believe we've met before." She furrowed her brow, confused. She so desperately wanted to know more about this doctor, but had they really met before?

"I…" she trailed off, she was looking into his eyes again. She was really going to have to stop doing that if she ever wanted to get anything done.

"I don't think yours is a face I could forget very easily," the Doctor said, in quite a frank manner.

"And I don't think I could forget a man who wears a bowtie, but here we are," Clara said in an affectionately taunting tone. The Doctor looked down, was he really wearing a bowtie today? Well must be a good day. There must've been something to put him in a good mood… He met Clara's eyes again, and noticed she was deep in concentration, until a look of confused revelation spread over her face.

"You're not… there's no way. How- how is that possible. I'm dreaming, I must be dreaming. You're- you're not real, no, definitely not real. Snow, monsters, dying… Nope, I am just dreaming," Clara muttered hurriedly. The Doctor took her hand in his and helped her out of the bed, his other hand aiding her at the small of her back. Her walked her through the winding hallways of the TARDIS, finding his way to the console room. Suddenly, Clara stopped, a smile spreading across her tired face. The Doctor glanced over at her expression.

"You remember, then?" He asked with a shy smile of his own. He had been searching for Clara ever since that night he lost her, when her last words had reminded him of the fact that he had seen her somewhere before- he had heard that voice. When he had realized that she had some how managed to live multiple times, he had spent his time searching for her through the years and through the universe- on the never-ending hunt for Clara Oswin. But each time he would come close, each time he would begin to fall in love with her all over again, she would find some unforeseeable and unstoppable end, and would die in his arms. Not this time though, not while he had her in his grasp-

Her footsteps wobbled and she was in his arms again.

" Sorry, must not have eaten lately. Just a little light headed is all." There faces were close now, his hands wrapped around her small waist supporting her back, her hands on his shoulders at the base of his neck. Their noses were near to touching and Clara thought that they were closer than they probably should have been, but she didn't mind. And for some reason, the Doctor found that he didn't mind either. It was warm, and comfortable and on the verge of passionate, and his breath smelled irresistibly like peppermint. Clara leaned forward just a hair, standing the slightest bit on her tiptoes, and touched his lips with her own. The Doctor pulled her closer and deepened the kiss, his arms wrapping tighter around her, her hands moving from his shoulders to his neck to the sides of his face. The kiss was delightful and addictive and neither wanted to pull away when suddenly, Clara seemed to let go. The Doctor looked down at the fragile body in his arms; her eyes had shut and her breathing was scattered and shallow. Confused and shocked, the Doctor cradled her in his arms and laid her down on the floor of the TARDIS.

"Clara, _CLARA!" _He shouted, his forehead beading with sweat as his shaking hands felt her wrist for her pulse and her heart for a beat. _Dear Clara Oswin,_ he thought as he laid his forehead against hers, hoping that she would wake up.


	3. Chapter 3

The Doctor lifted his head from Clara's and looked around hurriedly, placing his hands on either side of her face. He looked around, desperate to find something that could help. Then he saw it: Clara's medical kit. Extremely outdated, yes, but quite useful if you knew what to do with it. He ran over to where Clara had dropped it just a few hours earlier, and fumbled with shaking fingers to undo the clasp. He opened it on the ground next to Clara's quiet body, searching the contents for something he could use. He glanced down at her face again, and he flashed back to his memories of losing the Ponds. He felt a pang of aching emptiness rattle inside him. He couldn't let her get away from him too, he couldn't lose another person he was almost sure he might have perhaps and just maybe kind of fallen in love with. The Doctor quickly removed his jacket and placed it under Clara's head. He proceeded to roll up his sleeves and nervously ran his hand through his hair.

He looked back at the kit, retrieving a black vile of liquid and shook it up. With one hand under her neck and the other at her back, the Doctor lifted Clara to rest in a cradled position in his arms. As he sat on his knees, he kept one arm supporting her from slipping out of his lap and managed to screw the lid off of the vile. His hand moved to Clara's face, caressing her forehead and cheek and closed eyelids. He stroked her lips with his thumb, and tried to part them just enough to let the liquid into her system. He propped the bottle against her lips and tilted it back, letting the clear medicine trickle down her throat.

"Right then," he whispered. Who was he kidding, how could he possibly stop her imminent death? This was getting frustrating in the most heartbreaking of ways. It was one thing to have someone taken out of your life, but it is another to have them dangled in front of you, out of reach. To have them given to you, and taken away, and given back, and taken again. It was quite the vicious cycle, and the Doctor couldn't grasp it. How could she possibly manage to slip in and out of time and space, existing for the same twenty-some beautiful years each time, with some imminent end lurking around the corner? It just didn't make sense. It was cruel.

The Doctor looked down at Clara in his arms and sighed, she always managed to look so lovely and peaceful when she was about to die. Unexpectedly, he felt an urge to do something that was totally irrational and anything but a cure. He cupped her cheek with his hand and pulled her face to his own, kissing her paling lips. He felt a strange, sharp shot of electricity through the very center of him, and warmth against his lips. A sputtering cough echoed in the silence causing the Doctor to release Clara from his embrace.

The Doctor's breath caught- the color was coming back into Clara's cheeks, the sputtering cough was coming from her. Her lungs began to move up and down with quick, harsh movements, and her right hand gave a slight twitch. The Doctor held Clara's body close to his own and rocked her gently back and forth. The coughing slowed to a healthy breathing, and her body calmed to normal human sleeping behavior. The two stayed like that for a few minutes, until Clara's eyes flicked open with an energy as if nothing had happened to her.

"Alrighty then, clever boy, where to today?" Clara asked from his arms, a keen smile itching at the corners of her mouth. The Doctor looked confused and excited and just a bit frightened.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," the Doctor breathed, as if he had come to a revelation of something he had thought was impossible. Well, then again, that usually did happen to the Doctor. Clara managed to work her way to standing, grabbing the Doctor's hands and bringing her up with him.

"Oy, I don't look that bad now, do I?" She taunted, jokingly poking his shoulder. The Doctor didn't know what to say. A human, well yes she was a human. But she died, and did it multiple times, always after the same amount of time. Like she regenerated? No, not that. But he had stopped it, with a kiss of all things. Strange, strange, strange, thought the Doctor.

_Now, where were we…_ thought Clara, as she stood across from the Doctor. He looked so irresistible with his hair all mussed up like that and his sleeves all rolled up. Poor thing, he looked so distressed, _only one thing to do about that…_

"But it doesn't make sense! How could you- how could you possibly?" The doctor stammered quickly, his hurried thoughts tripping over one another.

"What doesn't?" Clara pressed, as she took a step closer to him.

"Well as a matter of fact what I meant to say was tha-" the Doctor tried to finish, but Clara had pulled him by his red suspenders into a kiss, and as he let his hands wrap around her body, gripping her closer to him, the Doctor found that for now, he didn't mind if he knew why or how, because he definitely knew who.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you so much for your lovely feedback- it really means a lot and helps me figure out how to make the story better for you guys!**

**xx**

"And that's really what happened?" Clara said through a mouthful of toast. She crossed one leg over the other, smoothing her tight red dress over her black tights, and adjusted the cream-colored knit scarf around her neck. She liked this 21st century clothing the TARDIS had stocked her closet with more and more. She took another sip of tea, glancing over the top of her mug at the Doctor, who was toying with those glasses he always seemed to be wearing.

"Like I said," he continued, "You seem to appear at multiple moments in time. Unpredictably, and I always seem to find you right before your demise. It's quite tragic actually. You should feel quite bad for me," he said with a taunting air.

"Well you're not the one who has to die every time, now, are you?" She shot right back, setting her teacup down on the table. They sat in the TARDIS kitchen, munching and discussing over a light English breakfast. In addition to her skills with a medical kit, Clara was quite good with a stovetop and pantry of ingredients collected from various planets on various journeys. That morning had been a particularly eventful one for the TARDIS kitchen, as Clara had attempted to teach the Doctor the simple domestic practice of making pancakes. It had ended with both of them covered in flour, and them kissing, pressing each other against the sink and the refrigerator door. The pancakes burnt, to say the least.

But here they were again, the same mystery clouding their thoughts. Clara stood up from the table, clearing their dishes to the sink. She made her way to the TARDIS living space, plopping herself onto the orange-pillowed navy couch. She hugged her knees to her chest and let out a sigh. The Doctor came in, sitting down on the other side of the couch, stretching out his legs in front of him. He'd left his jacket off again and had the sleeves of his button-up rolled up, his collar undone and his bowtie hanging to one side. She let her legs go; setting them across his lap and leaning back against the pillows. They sat in silence for a few minutes, the Doctor absentmindedly running his hand along Clara's leg. It had been like this for her first few weeks aboard the spaceship, which shocked Clara; she had truly thought they would have an adventure or two by now. Not that she minded. It seemed like the Doctor had been simply perplexed since her arrival, and each time he told her the story of what had happened, she would watch him become more and more frustrated with his inability to find a clear answer.

"Doctor?" Clara broke the silence. 'It all sounds a bit like a fairytale to me." Clara felt a hint of a smile creeping on to her face.

"Don't be ridiculous, Miss Oswin," the Doctor stammered, "Unless," the Doctor had an idea- there had to be some information in his TARDIS. He looked up at her round dimpled cheeks with a look of revelation in his eyes.

"Up we go then!" he declared, lifting her feet from his lap, and reaching down for her hand, bowing at the waist. "Your highness."

Clara took his hand and jumped up with a start, curtsying towards him. "Oh, my prince," Clara let out a giggle, and followed the Doctor hand-in-hand through the hallways of the TARDIS. The pair found themselves in the library, and the Doctor headed straight for the Gallifreyan reference texts. Clara sat herself down with some medical books, and the two began to read. The Doctor paced, and read a few more chapters, paced some more, and found another stack of books. Clara did her share of research too, although she eventually let her yawning take over and fell asleep in the middle of a book.

The Doctor found his gaze drifting from the books to Clara's peaceful sleeping expression. She really was a lovely girl. And in fact-

He looked down at the page she was asleep on. _No way, _he thought to himself as snatched the book from under her cheek.

"Doctor!" she said, as she awoke with a start. But, the Doctor was absorbed in the pages in front of him.

"Unbelievable," he breathed, "I've never seen anything like it." He traced his fingers over the pages, his eyes darting from the book to Clara's face. "You're nightenaglianaalleyaran," the Doctor said with excitement.

"Excuse me?" Clara looked completely confused, but the Doctor's excitement was contagious.

"Nightengalian, for short. Nightingale, human word yes?" Clara responded with a nod.

"But I'm just a human, Doctor," she responded.

"Yes," he nodded back. "It means that at one time or another surrounding your first infancy you were subjected to an intergalactic form of radiation that eliminated your ability to die, but something went wrong. Instead of never dying, you die, but you never stop living. Nightingales, you should look it up some time." Clara was speechless.

"That explains the dreams, or the times you have spoken of when we met before?" she asked, intrigued and slightly terrified. The Doctor pushed his chair away from the table, closing the book in one swift movement. He met Clara at the other side of the table, taking her face in his hands and studying it.

"Amazing," he breathed. She stood up next to him, their noses close to touching. She leaned up to kiss him, and their lips touched- soft at first, but the kiss deepened as she wrapped her hands into his hair and he pushed her up against the book case, her legs wrapping around his waist. Suddenly, Clara pulled away, a chunk of brown curls falling in front of her eyes.

"If I am this nightingale, Doctor, then why haven't I died yet- this time?" The Doctor studied her face, and let out a soft chuckle.

"Not sure yet, Os, but we'll figure it out. It may take an adventure or two to find out just why- you think you could handle that? Not until tomorrow of course," he placed a kiss along her jaw line.

"Adventure? I'm Clara Oswin Oswald, adventure is practically part of my name," she pressed her forehead against his. "Actually, though, I have a feeling we could get some research done in the mean time," Clara said, untangling their bodies and intertwining their fingers. She ran down the hall of the TARDIS pulling him behind her, and plopped down on his bed, grabbing the remote for the television. As she popped a VCR into the player, she settled in next to the Doctor, kissing his cheek.

"Sleeping Beauty," the Doctor observed as the opening credits rolled, "Perhaps this is all the resource we need, you're just a princess escaped from another century's fairytale!" the two shared a laugh as he buried his face in her hair, kissing the top of her head.


End file.
